A Slytherin's Survival Instinct
by mamesikokua
Summary: Pansy's experiences and tribulations after the war. The war has ended, but the true struggle has only just begun post DH, Epilogue never happened. A bit slow at first. Sorry, i'm crap at summaries... R&R!


**A Slytherin's Survival Instinct**

**AN: So I started other HP fics (2) but only finished 1, which was a one-shot so it doesn't count all that much. Hopefully I can finish this one? Reviews welcome (indeed, I beg you for them) though if you're going to offer criticism please be constructive about it! Also, I don't like abiding my canon, so...yeah. And don't worry if it's vague at first, all will be revealed...mwahaha**

**Disc: JK Rowling owns HP and the series and I bow down to her. Now, if only she hadn't written that epilogue…**

**Chapter 1**

It was a cold morning. The sun wouldn't fully rise for another hour or so, and though it would bring warmth, it wouldn't comfort. Pansy lay in bed, shivering. The world outside her was still, a stark contrast to the chaos that reigned within her. She'd had the dream again. The one where she found herself young again, carefree and innocent. She was only 18 and yet she felt so old, so very old. The flat's chill seeped into her small frame, and she knew there would be no warming up; there never was. How had it all come to this? What had gone so terribly wrong? She wished she could reach into her dreams and grab her younger self by the shoulders and shake her, hard. Warn her that soon her childhood would be lost. That within a few years she'd be eking out an existence in a shoddy flat.

Pansy sighed. Even if she could have gone back in time, her younger self would scoff in disbelief, and rightly so. She would have had no reason to believe that this life would be hers. Living in one of the poorest parts of muggle London, stripped of her wand? Of her magic? Who could have believed such a fate? She screwed her eyes shut against the painful memory. It was hard enough living poor in the muggle world. Living without her magic was unbearable. For as long as she lived, she would never be able to forget the empty feeling in her soul, throughout her entire body where her magic _should_ be. And the actual feeling of her magic being ripped from her body had been sheer agony…

"Fuck me", she muttered. It was too early for this. She pulled herself out of bed, wincing as her feet met the cold floor. Padding to the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. Perhaps she'd been a little dramatic about the level of her destitution. It wasn't like there were roaches. There _had _been rats, though they'd long since succumbed to her will and died from the poison she'd left out. There were no holes in the walls, and the water was place was devoid of any furniture. The only real plus was that there were two, decently sized bedrooms. Speaking of…

Pansy's eyes flicked over to the second room. She hadn't heard him return last night and wondered where he was. She regretted their row, in which she'd called him--what was it? ah, yes--a coward, useless, and a sad sack of a wizard. Pansy was pretty sure he'd called her a few choice words himself--pitiful, naive, burden--but she knew she'd started their fight. She sighed. She should have known better than to push his buttons with her whining about their current condition. She'd just felt so helpless, and had craved any form of control, even if it was over him. She shook her head hard to clear it of the guilt. What was done was done. If he couldn't handle a simple row without running away from her, then they'd never survive the next few years.

She blinked with surprise as she noticed the sunlight beginning to penetrate the darkness. Had she really been lost in her thoughts for so long? She walked to the window and stared at the lightening sky, thinking about the day ahead. "Today", she spoke softly, "is the day I leave this bloody flat and find myself a job."

"Or at least try. It's about time though", a weary voice cut in. Pansy started, then rolled her eyes at herself for her fear. She turned around, ready to shoot off a sharp reprimand. Her retort died on her lips as she took in his appearance.

Draco leaned against the doorframe, looking as though he'd collapse without its support. His clothes were rumpled and stained, and he looked so...greasy? What the hell? He gave her a weak sneer at her shocked expression. "Not a word about how I look Pansy. Not. a. word."

She snorted. "Fine, I'll skip the obvious and go straight to it; where have you been? You've only been gone all night".

Draco narrowed his eyes in irritation. "Not that it's any of your bus--" he began to mutter. "Well excuse m--" she threw back, cutting him off. " of your _business _Pansy", he continued over her, his voice getting louder. "But I've gone and been shopping, if you must know". At her confused expression, he stepped aside and revealed a battered couch behind him. His face softened and he sighed with exhaustion. "I'm not fucking useless Pansy. We need furniture, I got us a bloody sofa. Now help me get it in. I've about killed myself pushing it up the stairs."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She crossed the room towards him and wordlessly helped him lift the couch. She groaned as they struggled to shuffle it to the middle of the empty flat so it faced the window. As they placed it down, her face twisted. "Draco, what is that horrid smell? Where did you get this thing?" she demanded with disgust.

He winced at her question, then shrugged. "It's the couch. And me by extension, I reckon. I did what some passing muggles called 'dumpster diving", he explained. "Don't even start Pansy. It hadn't been there all that long, just a few hours…"

Pansy gaped at him, outraged. He'd gotten it from someone's rubbish? And he expected her to sit on this thing? She opened her mouth to tell him where he could put this filth, and then caught herself. He had tried, he really had. For a Malfoy, he'd done exceptionally well at providing for them. Rejecting this would not be good for his ego. Cursing under her breath, she slowly lowered herself onto the couch, trying to ignore the suspicious stains on it. At least it was comfortable, right? She smiled tightly at his grateful expression and patted the space next to her with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. He followed her lead and sank down, his body giving in to his weariness.

Together, they stared out the window. "So, you got it up the stairs by yourself? All three flights, just you?" she inquired. She was rewarded with a proud little half-smile, and he nodded. "We're stuck like this for three more years Pansy." he said quietly "This will hardly be the hardest thing I'll do. You too." She hummed in response, preferring to focus on her current content. This close, she could discern just how much he reeked or rubbish and sweat. She really ought to make him go wash up. Later though. Later he'd clean up and she'd search for an income. For now, they'd sit together and watch the sun rise, maybe think up an optimistic metaphor or two. Whatever. It was nice.

But then he'd really need to shower.


End file.
